


In Times of Turmoil

by kamicchis



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Blood and Violence, Character Death, Explicit Sexual Content, Jirou/OC [implied], M/M, Mutual Pining, Oshitari/Mukahi [implied], Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, There's Freakin' Zombies Yo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:14:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22158415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kamicchis/pseuds/kamicchis
Summary: Three months into the end of the world is an odd time to meet the love of your life.
Relationships: Ohtori Choutarou/Shishido Ryou
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, everyone!
> 
> This idea totally hit me on a whim, but I love a good zombie AU, so of course I had to drag my best boys into this disaster of a universe.
> 
> I'm still developing which pairings and characters will be relevant. I'll update the tags as the story goes on.

Since the beginning, Ohtori knew that he was going to die.

He didn’t have it in him. The first time his fingers smoothed against the surface of a pistol, Ohtori thought he’d pass out. He didn’t _want_ to die, of course not, but it was only a matter of time. 

And as it seemed, that time was now. 

“Run, Ohtori!” Asahi screamed, sliding that _damned_ gun across the smooth marble floor in his direction. 

Ohtori didn’t know what to do. He sat there, a deer caught in the headlights, as he stared at her. As if somehow the power of his glare would somehow change what had unravelled only thirty seconds prior, as if there was a chance to undo; or at least redo. 

Asahi was pinned underneath fallen debris. Fools they were to hide in the dusty basement of the theatre that had been a second home to them both only months prior. The ceiling [or floorboards, on the main level] was wooden, creaking under the weight of the unliving that roamed the halls upstairs. It had been overrun; hence why they moved down here in the first place. 

* * *

  
  


“Do you think anyone will find us here?” Ohtori asked quietly, more so to himself than to his partner. 

Asahi looked up at him. 

“I mean—the others escaped, I’m sure they’ll come back once they notice we’re missing from the group.” He continued on. He held a can of cold beans in his hand, bringing a small spoonful to his mouth.

“Listen to that.” Asahi said, after a long moment. She pointed to the ceiling, reminding him of the constant creaking, a familiar hum that had _almost_ become soothing to them. Maybe more so if it wasn’t the sound of zombies, wandering aimlessly above them. He assumed it was the same heard that had broken in through the windows on the main level only a few days prior, scattering the group of musicians that had been gathered here for safety since the start of all of this, only three months ago. 

“The last thing anyone is going to do is come searching through a building filled with the unliving.” She pressed on. “We don’t even know if Hanae and the others actually escaped.”

Ohtori was quiet for a moment.

“Hey.” Asahi murmured, quietly moving closer to him. She reached out for his hand, taking his long fingers within her own. “Don’t waste your energy thinking about them right now, Ohtori. What matters now is you and me, and getting out of here. We just need to wait.”

_Right, stick to the plan Ohtori._

They were waiting for the unliving upstairs to clear out then they’d escape. For now, there were just too many of them. They were totally outnumbered. 

But as the day crept on, their plan seemed impossible. The distant groaning only becoming louder, the slow, dragging footsteps increasing. Where were they coming from? 

Ohtori glanced over at Asahi, who was staring up at the ceiling, concern sketched out on her face. When she noticed Ohtori’s gaze, she shook it off and smiled at him. 

“Our time will come. Don’t worry, okay?” She assured him.

But it didn’t. 

* * *

  
  


The ceiling had collapsed underneath the weight of the unliving, and Asahi was pinned under a pile of rotten floorboards and disoriented zombies. 

Eyes wide, Ohtori’s back pressed to the brick wall. _Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit._

“Go, Ohtori!” Asahi screamed, thrashing against the weight of on top of her, kicking all the gangly limbs that grabbed for her. 

The unliving were far more interested in Asahi than they were Ohtori. He had a _chance_. The dusty stairwell was open, and all the unliving in the building [that he could see] were currently distracted by the hole that had suddenly opened up in the floor. 

Ohtori opened his mouth to speak, but only croaked, staring at the gun that was slid in his direction as if it was a third thumb. 

“Go!” She screamed again. 

Ohtori’s body moved before his mind could even register what was happening. He hurried to the stairs, blindly, keeping his horrified gaze on the helpless Asahi. If only he had been sitting where she was, then _he_ would have been...

It would have been him, instead. 

Scrambling up the stairs, Ohtori felt numb as Asahi screamed, drowned out by the gargles and groans of the unliving that overwhelmed her. He shoved the small pistol in the back pocket of his jeans, running for the large front door of the theatre. 

_I’m sorry, Asahi._ He thought. 

But somehow, Ohtori knew she’d damn him more if he tried to stay and save her. 

* * *

  
  


The daylight was blinding, considering he’d been down in that stuffy theatre basement for god knows how long. 

Ohtori groaned momentarily, squinting as he begged his eyes to hurry up and adjust. The city streets were dead silent, though the snarls of the unliving were still present in the background. 

He couldn’t see anyone, so he _ran_. 

Looking back at the theatre, Ohtori’s heart felt tight. He’d spent so much time there with the orchestra, perfecting their craft, rehearsing for the performance that was soon due to debut. But that didn’t matter anymore. His fingers longed for the smooth ivory of a piano, or a violin bow, but instead he gripped Asahi’s pistol. 

And he ran. 

* * *

  
  


Ohtori’s feet ached, his dress shoes long since worn out. 

The sun had set, darkness reflecting the smooth pavement of the alleyway, making it seem impossibly darker. 

By some miracle, Ohtori had found a burn barrel nestled by some dumpsters behind a supermarket, presumably used by the homeless at some point or another. Now he just needed to find something to actually light it with. 

The supermarket would have something, surely.

Ohtori soon realized that he hit the apocalypse jackpot, as the market was still stocked with various supplies. It had clearly been raid since the fall of the dark times [that was the orchestra’s term for … whatever the hell had happened] but there were plenty of things left. _Handy_ things. Ohtori found a large, beige backpack, clearly meant for camping. The first thing he thought to grab was a case of water bottles. It was heavy, sure, but _water_ was the last thing he wanted to be caught without. 

Next on the list was granola bars. Maybe they had the nutritious ones, meant for bodybuilders, not lanky musicians like Ohtori. Maybe vitamins would be good too. 

Turning the aisle with his mental shopping list in mind, Ohtori nearly jumped out of his skin as he ran into something.

_Someone_. 

“Hands up, tall boy.” The person ordered, and _oh god_ _they have a gun._

Ohtori threw his hands up immediately, his bag dropping to the floor with a loud thump. “Look, I didn’t know anyone still worked here—” 

_Okay, that was dumb._

“What?” The figure spat. “What the hell? No, I don’t work here. I’m grabbin’ supplies.” 

Ohtori blinked. That _someone_ moved forward, the moonlight breaking in through the front store window illuminating their short stature. They were clearly a boy, and nearly a foot shorter than Ohtori himself was. His eyebrows were furrowed, a bandana wrapped around his face. Short, cropped red hair framed his face. 

“M-Me too.” Ohtori stammered. “I mean I, uh…” 

The boy lowered his gun, not taking his eyes off of Ohtori. “You alone?” 

“Yes.” Ohtori replied, almost a little too quickly. 

He squinted at him. “Ain't no one got what it takes to survive alone these days.” He said, clearly not believing what Ohtori was saying. “Try again.”

“I mean, I am now. My, uh … my partner was killed earlier today.” Ohtori replied, throat dry. That was the first time he could admit to himself that Asahi was probably dead. _Probably_. 

He still couldn’t do without the probably.

“We were hiding at the theatre downtown.” He went on. “Myself and some other members of the orchestra—"

“Orchestra?” 

“Uh, yeah.” Ohtori frowned. “I played the violin, before… uh,” 

“All of this?” The boy gestured vaguely, smirking as Ohtori nodded. He slipped his gun back into his pocket, and Ohtori let out a sigh of relief. “A musician, huh. Never met a professional one of before. What’s your name?” 

“Ohtori Choutarou.” He said softly, reaching for his bag. “You?”

“Mukahi Gakuto.” The boy nodded. “Sorry for pointing my gun at you, can’t trust no one nowadays.” 

Ohtori offered a weak smile. “Are you alone?” 

“Eh, well here I am.” Mukahi said. “My partner and I split up looking for supplies. He’s looking for fuel.” 

“Ah, don’t let me stop you.” Ohtori said, for lack of anything else to say. "I..."

“Huh? You’re not seriously going to go back out there alone are you?” Mukahi raised his eyebrows. “Do you have a camp set up?”

“Not really.” Ohtori shrugged. “I found a burn barrel in the back alley. I was going to set up for the night out there.” 

“Great!” Mukahi exclaimed. “We’ll join you.” 

Ohtori blinked, and Mukahi waved his hand in dismissal. “We’re not from here. The more of us that gather up, the better. We can sleep in shifts.” He beamed, not even waiting for Ohtori to either agree or decline. The boy reached into his bag, pulling out what looked to be a handheld transceiver. Thumbing the button on the top, he brought the gadget to his mouth. “Oi, Yuushi. Where are you?” 

There was static for a few seconds, then came a muffled reply. “ _20th street and 2nd, found some fuel cans._ ” 

“I’m on 18th and 3rd, dingey lookin’ supermarket across from the park. Come here, over.” 

“ _Copy._ ”

Mukahi shoved the HT back into his bag, throwing it over his shoulder. “Alright, let’s get stashing.” He chimed. “A burn barrel, huh? Maybe we can find marshmallows.” 

Ohtori was perplexed. Who sounded this chipper among such horrific times? 

* * *

  
  


It turned out that Mukahi was a professional acrobat. 

They were gathered around the burn barrel, sitting on some metal chairs they found in the backroom of the supermarket. Mukahi’s friend, Oshitari Yuushi, had joined them some time after their transceiver exchange, and now they were mindlessly chatting about their lives before the dark times. 

“I’ve done lots of gigs.” Mukahi chatted on. “Hell, I had my biggest one yet coming up only a few weeks after all of this happened!” He complained.

“Your skills are useful even now, Gakuto.” Oshitari reassured him. He had a blanket on his lap, holding a novel in one hand. He didn’t even look up from it as he spoke. “You’ve gotten me out of situations I couldn’t have myself.” 

Mukahi rubbed the back of his neck, looking embarrassed. “You too, idiot Yuushi. Take some credit!” 

Ohtori smiled to himself. _They seemed friendly with one another._

“Did you know each other before all of this?” Ohtori asked. 

“No. It seems that way, doesn’t it?” Oshitari mused. “He grew on me like a weed.” 

Mukahi scoffed, popping a saltine cracker into his mouth. “I mean _I_ kind of knew him. I read his books.” 

“You’re an author, Oshitari-san?” Ohtori gasped. 

“Flipping through them at the bookstore doesn’t count, Gakuto.” Oshitari chuckled, placing his book down. “I wrote a few novels as a side project. I was studying engineering, however.”

“Eh, really? How did you have time for both?”

Oshitari shrugged. “Doesn’t matter much now, does it?”

Mukahi threw a cracker at him. “Way to be depressing!” He scolded, and Oshitari chuckled quietly. 

Ohtori pulled his blanket up to his chest. 

“What about you and your partner, Ohtori? Did you know each other before this?” Mukahi piped up. 

“Ah, yeah. Asahi was a member of my orchestra.” Ohtori explained quietly, his heart feeling heavy at the mention of her name. “She played the flute, I was on violin. We weren’t particularly close before the start of all this, we just… ended up stuck in the basement together for a few days. All the others escaped.”

“ _More_ musicians?” Mukahi blinked. “Were all of you there when the outbreak started or something?” 

“Yeah. We were practicing for a concert we had upcoming in June. A few people scattered and ran away, but another violinist said that the theatre was a safe place to stay until this all cleared up.” Ohtori went on. “Which was true at first, but we were running out of food. A few members ran out to try and get supplies but brought a hoard back with them. The weight of them piling up broke through the windows.” He said quietly. His fingertips grazed the smooth pistol on his lap, sighing softly as he remembered the details of how he had gotten here. Ohtori tried not to think too much of anything that had happened, knowing that his thoughts would crush him and damnit he could _not_ afford to break down now. “Everyone fled except for Asahi and I, we hid in the storage basement, but the unliving broke through the floorboards after a couple of days.” 

The three of them sat in silence for a moment. Mukahi looked up at Oshitari, who returned his gaze. Oshitari nodded at him, pushing his glasses up and sitting up to look at Ohtori directly. 

“You’re alone now, right?” Oshitari asked gently. 

Ohtori nodded. “I… suppose I am, yeah.” He stared at the ashes that rose from the copper barrel, focusing on anything to keep himself from tearing up at the realization that he was _alone_. 

Fifty-three members of the orchestra, and _he_ was the only one left. Ohtori Choutarou, the quiet, soft-spoken violin player who never should have made it this far. 

Oshitari and Mukahi exchanged another look. 

“Listen, Ohtori. It’s not just the two of us.” Oshitari spoke up suddenly. “We’re a part of a camp about fifty miles east of the city outskirts.”

“A camp?” Ohtori blinked. 

“Yeah. We didn’t want to out ourselves at first in case you were dangerous.”

Ohtori could almost laugh at that. Pathetically enough, he hadn’t even killed one of the undead yet. He was the least dangerous person out there. 

“There’s about two hundred of us.” Oshitari said.

“ _Two hundred?_ ” He stammered. The streets of the city felt impossibly empty, the thought of two hundred people gathered in one place was mind boggling. 

“I know it’s hard to believe.” Mukahi chipped in. “But most people left the city one month into the outbreak. It’s easier to hide in the countryside. All that’s left around here are the undead.”

“It’s dangerous around here, Ohtori.” Oshitari went on. “Aside from the obvious, it’s mostly people from various camps looking around for supplies, most of which is now hard to come by. Especially fuel.” 

“People kill each other over that stuff. It’s nasty.” Mukahi scoffed. 

“Why don’t you come back to the camp with us? We’re heading back in the morning. We got what we needed.” Oshitari said, looking at Mukahi to confirm, who just nodded. “You seem like a fine character. I’m sure Atobe could find some use for you.” 

“Atobe?” Ohtori asked.

With how quickly they talked, it was hard to keep up with them. 

“Atobe’s the leader of the camp.” Mukahi explained. “He took both of us in about a month ago. He’s kind of a dick, but keeps things running smoothly.” 

Oshitari chuckled at his comment. 

“It’s a lot to think about, I know.” Mukahi pressed. “But seriously, Ohtori. There’s some bad people out there. The survivors are banding into communities, but Atobe’s is one of the biggest. We have a lot of manpower to fight these damn zombies. You’ll be safe there.” 

Ohtori was quiet again, listening to the quiet crackle of the fire burning. He wasn’t particularly attached to the city, and now that he had lost Asahi, he really had nothing left to lose. 

What could it hurt? 

“Say, why don’t you two get some sleep?” Oshitari said, standing up from his chair. “I’ll keep watch for a few hours. Once dawn breaks, we’ll head back to camp. Sleep on it for a while, Ohtori. You don’t have to decide right now.”

Mukahi yawned loudly, settling in his chair and crossing his legs. “Sounds good to me. Man, I’m exhausted.” He yawned again. “Goodnight Yuushi, Ohtori.” 

Ohtori nodded at him with a smile, though he felt heavy. There was no way that he could sleep. 

Or so he thought, for as soon as he closed his eyes, he dozed off.

He dreamt of Asahi, smiling at him from the wind section of the orchestra. She looked the most beautiful with her long dark hair tied back, formal attire of their dress code clad to her short figure. She winked at him, pursing her lips in front of the flute she treasured just as much as he did the violin. 

He dreamt of his older sister, yelling at him to get out of her room when she walked in on her and her boyfriend during his 2nd year of high school. Ohtori had wanted to shrivel up and die at the time, but he’d take his sister yelling at him anytime over the uncertainty he now had of whether or not she was still alive. 

He dreamt of gliding the bow down his prized violin that his parents bought him as a graduation gift several years ago. It fit perfectly under his chin, his mother brought to tears over Ohtori’s incredible playing. In a way, he was _glad_ she passed away earlier this year, saving her the misery of having to live through whatever the hell was happening in the world now. 

He dreamt of Asahi again. She shared some of her cold, canned soup with Ohtori, holding the spoon to his lips. It was gross and gooey, mushroom flavoured undoubtedly, but it was something. Asahi laughed at him, then leaned in to kiss his cheek. His palms grew sweaty, and he wondered if Asahi had always felt this way about him even before they were trapped together, or if he was now her only option. 

He dreamt of Oshitari. Ohtori was standing in line at the bookstore, waiting to get his book signed. The blue haired man looked dashing in a suit, glasses hooked on the bridge of his nose as he looked down to autograph the novel held out to him by an adoring fan. Mukahi was in line with him, nudging him in unabashed excitement. 

When Ohtori woke, Oshitari was sitting across from him, asleep in his chair. Mukahi wasn’t anywhere to be seen, probably keeping a lookout at the end of the alley. The fire was nothing short of fading embers, the warmth it provided fading into the night. Ohtori pulled his blanket up higher, closing his eyes again. 

At least he had something to look forward to. And that, _was something_. 


	2. Chapter 2

It was hardly light out when Ohtori woke. It couldn’t be any later than five in the morning. 

He was surprised to find that Mukahi was back, and Oshitari had gone to keep watch. They had all agreed to take turns, but they hadn’t woken Ohtori. 

“G’morning.” Mukahi said, munching on a granola bar. He was wrapped in his own blanket and what was presumably Oshitari’s as well. Ohtori could hardly blame him, it was a chilly morning. 

“Morning.” Ohtori nodded, leaning in to poke at the burn barrel with the crowbar that Oshitari fancied. It was completely out now. 

“I was gonna relight it, but Yuushi said not to bother.” Mukahi commented, words half lost behind a mouth full of granola. “We’re gonna leave soon. Anything you want to grab?”

Ohtori thought about it for a long moment. “Um, if it isn’t too much trouble, could we maybe stop by my house?” 

Mukahi blinked. “Eh? You sure about that?” 

He nodded. “I’d like to collect a few things, if you don’t mind.” 

Sighing, Mukahi shrugged. “Suit yourself. I’ll go tell Yuushi and we’ll get the car. Grab your things.” He tossed the wrapper behind him and grabbed the crowbar, throwing it over his shoulder before stalking off.

Admittedly, Ohtori was surprised at first to hear that they had a car, but it made sense given that the camp they spoke of was far out of the city. The trip would be well over an hour at least, and he didn’t want to think about that distance on foot. 

Standing up, his muscles groaned in protest. Yesterday was the most action his muscles had gotten in weeks, as he wasn’t necessarily getting the most exercise while locked in a theatre. Ohtori stretched out his arms, rolling his shoulders before throwing his bag over his back.

The uncertainty of the day ahead made him nervous, but the future already seemed more promising than it did twenty-four hours ago. 

* * *

  
  


Ohtori really didn’t know that much about cars.

This one was black, a hybrid of some kind, according to Oshitari, who currently sat in the driver's seat. Mukahi was in the passenger seat, his feet up on the dashboard. He had a box of crackers in his hands.

“Stop eating everything.” Oshitari scolded. “We’ll have nothing to bring back to the others.” 

Mukahi scoffed. “We’re the ones running the mission, can’t do that on an empty stomach.” He justified, shoving several crackers into his mouth. 

Ohtori quietly sipped on a bottle of water, sitting in the backseat with boxes and boxes of miscellaneous supplies. By his feet were multiple gas canisters. The faint smell made him feel nauseous.

“Just around the corner here.” Ohtori spoke up, heart beating fast as the drove through his old neighbourhood. It was eerie, the streets completely quiet. As they turned the corner, Ohtori’s nose crinkled upon seeing a group of the unliving crowded over something. Someone, inevitably. They paid the car no mind, more focused on their breakfast, and Ohtori released a breath that he didn’t even realize he was holding in. 

“Nice neighbourhood.” Mukahi commented bleakly, as they pulled up in front of Ohtori’s family home. 

The outside of the house looked exactly the same as when he had left for rehearsal three months ago. The front door was broken down, however, and his grandmother’s flower beds had long since wilted. His heart lurched.

“I’ll stand guard at the door.” Oshitari said, turning off the car engine. He reached for the crowbar he had nestled beside him in the driver’s seat. “Gakuto, you stay here. Try not to eat everything.” 

“Alright, alright. Hey, Ohtori, make it quick. Atobe will kill all of us if we get back even a second later than noon.” 

Ohtori nodded, getting out of the backseat. He watched Oshitari, who was looking around to make sure the coast was clear as they walked up to the door. 

“If there were any zombies in the house, they would have been drawn out by the noise of the car.” Oshitari said. “You should be fine.” 

That was slightly reassuring. Ohtori didn’t know what he’d do if he encountered anything inside. 

“You got ten minutes.” Oshitari told him, and Ohtori nodded. 

Stepping up the concrete stoop, Ohtori took a deep breath before he stepped inside, pivoting around the broken down door. 

Immediately he noticed that the house was trashed. Furniture was flipped upside down in the living room, his grandmother’s cabinet of fine dishware was laying face down on the hardwood floor, shattered porcelain laying mere inches away. The television was gone entirely, which seemed like a strange thing to steal among the end of days. 

Ohtori turned his gaze away from the sight, hurrying up the stairs. He didn’t want want to look in any of the rooms aside from his own. He didn’t want to know. 

Turning down the hallway, Ohtori pushed open the door that lead to his bedroom. It wasn’t in the worst condition, though the window was shattered, the breeze of the cool morning whistling in through the wooden frame. 

_ Don’t think too hard about this. _ He told himself.

Ohtori rummaged through the desk, not entirely sure what he was looking for. He found an envelope filled with some family photos, which he quickly shoved into his bag. There was nothing else aside from some textbooks and loose papers from his university days. He moved to the closet, grabbing some clothes from the dresser. They were still folded neatly, as his grandmother had left them. Though Ohtori had long since passed the age where having anyone but himself doing his laundry was unacceptable, his grandmother made a fuss over it and dug through his hampers anyways. She claimed it kept her from losing her sanity in her retirement. 

He was getting too emotional, thinking too much, everything reminded him of his life before. But worst of all, the uncertainty of whether or not his family was alive or dead. He told himself that he didn’t want to know, but maybe…

Shaking away his thoughts, Ohtori hurried out of his bedroom. 

He turned down the hallway, and gasped. 

A figure was at the bottom of the stairs, though it wasn’t Oshitari or Mukahi. It groaned upon noticing Ohtori, gangly arms lifting to grab for him. 

“O-Oshitari-san?” Ohtori called out, and the zombie growled in response. “There’s, uh…” 

But there was no reply, and  _ oh god it was climbing up the stairs.  _

Ohtori panicked, not knowing what to do. Reach for your gun, he thought, but he was frozen in place. “Oshitari-san!” He cried again. 

The figure’s jaw fell open, obviously dislocated from months of decay. It growled louder, thumping clumsily up the stairs, grayish fingers reaching for Ohtori. 

Finally, Ohtori reached into his pocket, grabbing the small pistol that Asahi had given him. He lifted it, though hesitantly, blood hissing through his ears. He didn’t know what to do. Shoot it, obviously. But could he? He hadn’t before. He was safe in the theatre, and all they had to do was hide, not  _ fight _ . 

“Oh god.” Ohtori mustered, hands shaking as he pointed the pistol at the zombie. It was halfway up the stairs now. His arms felt heavy, veins traced with lead that made everything feel damn impossible. He stared wide eyed, backing up until his back clattered against the closet he used to hide in when playing with his sister years ago, and he longed for it. 

Reaching the final stair, the zombie let out a groan of surprise as something metal hooked around it’s leg. Ohtori gasped, watching as Oshitari yanked it down the stairs with his crowbar. It tripped, body hitting the wood with a loud thump. It snarled and Oshitari lifted his crowbar, flipping it in one smooth movement before he drove the sharp edge into its head. 

Ohtori stared wordlessly as blood and brain matter splattered against the smooth white walls of what used to be his home. Oshitari lifted the stained crowbar, before smashing the zombie’s head again. Ohtori flinched, and the groans grew quiet. 

“I thought you were keeping watch!” Ohtori stammered. 

“It was one zombie.” Oshitari said, taking off his glasses to clean them on his shirt. “I wanted to see if you could handle it.” 

Ohtori was offended, mouth hanging open but words escaping him. 

“Have you ever killed one before?” Oshitari pressed, looking up at him, totally unphased that he just smashed zombie brains all over the staircase.

Quietly, Ohtori shook his head. “Well no, but—” 

Oshitari actually laughed, and Ohtori’s chest stung. “Oh, dear. Well, not to worry. I’m sure Atobe will assign someone to train you.” He placed his glasses back on the bridge of his nose, turning to walk back down the stairs. “Come now, we should get going.” 

Ohtori walked quietly behind him, expression contorting as he walked past the battered zombie. He put his gun back in his pocket. 

“Don’t use a gun unless you have to.” Oshitari commented, as they walked outside. “It’ll attract more of the unliving if you do.” 

Ohtori could only nod, keeping his gaze down. 

  
  


* * *

The drive was quiet. Mukahi was finally full, it seemed, as he abandoned his box of crackers in favour of a nap. 

They had long since left the city, greeted now by the countryside. Ohtori stared out the window, his bag cradled to his chest. He didn’t leave the city often, so the vast fields of rotting crops and nothing else aside from the occasional wandering zombie were almost fascinating. 

“City boy, I take it?” Oshitari asked finally, glancing at him through the rear view mirror. “You’d think we were driving through the grand canyon with how intrigued you look.”

“I suppose so.” Ohtori smiled, leaning against the window. 

The plains turned into hills, and eventually trees started to thicken the landscape. They weren’t on the highway anymore, slipping onto a dirt road that was bumpy enough to waken Mukahi up from his slumber. 

“Almost home.” Oshitari said, reaching across the glove box to grab Mukahi’s hand. “I’m glad you caught up on your rest. Feeling better now?” 

The boy yawned, squeezing Oshitari’s hand before he sat back up. “Yeah. Thanks, Yuushi. I’ll drive next time.” 

Ohtori stared at the window, the trees thickening into forest. The sun was high in the sky, but it was hard to tell. The trees grew tall and proud, years and years of undisturbed growth twisted into their thick trunks. The bushes were equally as overgrown. It looked like the perfect place to hide, and the unliving would be given no easy time trying to chase after anyone in a forest like this. 

“We share this forest with another group.” Mukahi said, turning to look at Ohtori. “They didn’t want to band with us, but they’re nice.” 

“Another group?” Ohtori asked. 

“Yeah. Their leader is named, uh… Tezuka, I think.” 

Oshitari nodded. “They’re much smaller. There’s only about twenty of them.”

Ohtori pondered quietly. It was incredible that people were already starting to group together and form communities. 

* * *

A while later, they approached a large gate surrounded by high fences. There was a post beside it, where a young man with dark blonde hair stood perched, a large gun hoisted over the railing. He watched as they approached. 

“Is this it?” Ohtori asked.

Mukahi beamed. “Yep. Pretty impressive isn’t it?” 

Oshitari slowed to a stop, giving Mukahi’s shoulder a gentle shove to encourage him to get out of the car. Mukahi groaned, but opened the door. “Come on, Ohtori. You’ll need to introduce yourself.” 

“Oi, Hiyoshi!” Mukahi called out to the man on the post. “We have a visitor.” 

The second Ohtori stepped out of the car, he nearly turned purple as he noticed Hiyoshi was pointing his gun at him. 

“Does he have any weapons?” Hiyoshi called back, then glared at Ohtori. He could see that, even from this distance. “Put your hands up.” 

Ohtori did as he was told, lifting his hands in the air. Mukahi reached into Ohtori’s pocket and grabbed his pistol, holding it up to show Hiyoshi. “Just this. Lower your damn hackles and get Atobe out here, will you?” 

Hiyoshi glared. “Come to the side gate, I’ll let Oshitari through.”

“Don’t mind him, Ohtori. Come on.” Mukahi rolled his eyes, leading him over to what looked to be an intermodal container of sorts on top of a concrete slab. There were stairs leading up to the door, and Mukahi knocked loudly. 

After a few moments, the door swung open and a head poked out. 

“Hey, Ishino.” Mukahi said. “We brought someone back from the city. You mind if he waits in here until Atobe comes?” 

Ishino, a young man who couldn’t be any older than nineteen stared Ohtori down, but nodded. “Alright, come in.” 

Following Mukahi inside, Ohtori looked around. There was a table with tons of paperwork stacked on top of it and several chairs tucked in the corner. 

“Go ahead and sit down.” Mukahi said, placing Ohtori’s gun down on the table. “I need to go check in with Yuushi, but you can stay here. This is Ishino Joji, he’s one of the trade secretaries.” 

Ishino nodded at him. He was a slim built boy with short chestnut hair and freckles. “Nice to meet you.” 

Ohtori smiled, sitting down on one of the chairs. “I’m Ohtori Choutarou. I met Mukahi-san and Oshitari-san in the city.” 

Nodding again, Ishino sat back down at the table, waving farewell to Mukahi as he left. After a moment, he spoke up again. “Oshitari-san is cautious. I know they wouldn’t just bring back anybody.” He offered in reassurance. “But we need to follow Atobe-sama’s instructions, I hope you don’t mind.” 

Ohtori waved his hand. “It’s okay.” 

They sat in silence for a few moments before curiosity got the best of him. “What are you working on?” Ohtori asked. 

“Just some paperwork.” Ishino replied, not looking up. “We’re trading supplies with one of the other communities nearby in a few days, I need to account for the inventory.” 

Ohtori nodded slowly. “Tezuka-san’s group?”

Ishino looked up then. “Uh, yeah. You heard about them?” 

“Yeah, a little.” Ohtori admitted. “Not much though.” 

“Tezuka-san’s group has a large supply of weapons.” Ishino explained. “Whereas here, we focus mainly on growing crops and lumber supplies for building. Atobe-sama says it’s redundant to have high power rifles when we have such a large number of people.” 

“I see.” Ohtori replied thoughtfully, fiddling with his thumbs. “Don’t let me keep you from your work.” 

Ishino nodded. “Thanks. Atobe-sama should be here soon, I reckon.” 

Ohtori was left wondering what kind of person this  _ Atobe-sama _ was. Admittedly, he was nervous. Ohtori wasn’t exactly  _ worth _ a lot, seeming as he had absolutely no fighting skills. But Ishino’s words left him slightly reassured. If they valued physical labour more, than perhaps he had a chance to be useful. 


	3. Chapter 3

“Come with me.” 

Ohtori looked up, recognizing the man who stood guard at the post earlier. The one Mukahi had referred to as Hiyoshi. 

“It was nice to meet you, Ohtori-san.” Ishino said with a smile. “If you need anything, I’m around here most of the time.” 

“Don’t get too comfortable here.” Hiyoshi muttered. “Atobe hasn’t accepted you yet.” 

Standing up, Ohtori pulled his bag over his shoulders. They left out a different door than they came in, and the touch of grass underneath his tattered dress shoes was something he hadn’t felt in a long while. He quietly followed behind Hiyoshi, trying to pay no mind to the fact he was holding a gun. Ohtori couldn’t deny that he felt like a hostage of some sort, but he understood the need for formalities. 

The camp was _huge_. Most of the buildings off to the side were modified intermodal containers much like the one they were just in. There were a few people walking around the clearing, gazes drawn to Ohtori in question.

They approached a big building, one that stood out as it _wasn’t_ a container made of reinforced metal. It looked like a modified warehouse of some sort. 

“Alright, you. Wait here.” Hiyoshi said, glaring at Ohtori. He approached the building, opening the door and stepping inside. Only several moments passed before he came back out, several people following behind him. Ohtori was relieved to see Mukahi and Oshitari among the group. 

“Atobe, this is Ohtori Choutarou.” Hiyoshi said. 

The man that stepped forward stood out, surprisingly well dressed given the circumstances. He folded his arms across his chest. “Goodness, you’re tall.” He commented. 

Ohtori shuffled his feet nervously. “Yeah, I get that a lot.” 

“I’m Atobe Keigo.” He went on. “I’m in charge of this camp. I understand that you met Mukahi and Oshitari in the city, correct?”

“Yes, sir.” Ohtori nodded, finding it hard to maintain eye contact with his strong stare. He reeked confidence unlike anything that Ohtori had ever seen before. “I ran into Mukahi-san at a supermarket.” 

Atobe pressed his lips in thought. “Are you not with anyone else?” 

“Atobe, I told you--” Mukahi tried to cut in, but was silenced as Atobe threw up his hand. 

“Quiet. I want to hear it from him.” 

Ohtori sucked in a breath. “No, I’m not. My group dispersed a while ago and the friend I was with was killed.” 

Probably.

“How?” Atobe pressed on. 

“We were hiding in a basement, and the floorboards collapsed. She was crushed.” Ohtori said, throat dry. 

Atobe chuckled, and Ohtori’s chest grew tight. “That’s it? You didn’t try and save her?” 

“I… I couldn’t, she was…” Ohtori stammered. Being confronted with the _what ifs_ that had been haunting him hurt a hell of a lot more when they came accusatory from someone else. 

“Fuck off, Atobe!” A voice spoke up suddenly. The man stepped forward, glowering. “How would you like it if someone tormented you for not saving Jirou, huh?” 

Atobe winced. “That’s different, Shishido.” 

“Like hell it is!” He protested again.

“Get back in line.” Atobe hissed, not even turning to look at him. 

The man named Shishido shoved his hands into his pockets, clicking his tongue in obvious annoyance. “Whatever.”

Atobe sighed, brushing his hand through his dusty blonde hair. “Anyway. Ohtori, what did you do before this?”

“I was a musician.” Ohtori murmured. His chest still stung from Atobe’s words. “I played violin in an orchestra. I did some solo piano work too.” 

“Ahn? A musician?” Atobe hummed. “Interesting. Classical?” 

Ohtori nodded. “Yeah.” 

Atobe looked thoughtful. “Alright. Though Oshitari tells me that you’re not too experienced with fighting, are you?”

“Ah… no, I’m not.” Ohtori looked down. There it was, the question he’d been dreading. 

“Then you came to the right place.” 

Ohtori blinked. 

“We’re more focused on rebuilding and regrowing here.” Atobe explained. “We have a great number of people, but most of them aren’t involved in running missions or things of the like. So fret not, surely there’s a use for you.” 

“He gonna serenade you with the piano while you eat your dinner, Atobe?” Shishido gawked. 

“Shishido!” Atobe bristled. “You know what, fine. Ohtori’s welcome here. But _you._ ” He turned on his heels, pointing his finger at the shorter man. “ _You’re_ in charge of showing him around.” 

“What?! What the hell do you mean?” Shishido shot back. “I have better things to do than babysit piano fingers over here! Why don’t you get someone of lower rank to do it?”

“Because you’re going to train him in combat, also.” Atobe remarked. Ohtori’s eyes went wide at the banter. 

Shishido’s mouth dropped open, but he was speechless. He kicked the dirt and grumbled to himself. 

“Good. Alright, Ohtori. Welcome.” Atobe smirked at him. “Don’t make me regret this decision. Shishido will explain the way we run things around here.” 

Ohtori nodded, bowing slightly. “Thank-you very much.” 

Atobe turned, heading back inside the warehouse. Some followed him, though Hiyoshi went back in the direction of the front gate. Mukahi, Oshitari and Shishido remained. 

“I didn’t doubt for a moment that you’d be accepted.” Oshitari smiled, resting his hand on Ohtori’s shoulder. “Welcome. If you ever need anything, Gakuto and I are usually around if we aren’t on a scouting mission.” 

“Thank-you, Oshitari-san.” Ohtori nodded. “I can’t thank-you two enough.” 

Mukahi waved his hand in dismissal. “We need to go sort through inventory. Catch you later, Ohtori!” He beamed. 

And with that, Ohtori was left with a rather grumpy looking Shishido. 

“Um…” Ohtori started. 

Shishido grumbled to himself, hands stuck in his pockets. “Sorry about all of that.” He muttered. “Atobe just makes me so mad sometimes. I swear it’s nothing personal.”

“Oh, it’s alright.” Ohtori reassured him quietly. “Um. Sorry about this, I…” 

Shishido gave a sheepish smile, rubbing the back of his head. “Hey, don’t worry about it. I really don’t mind. Let me show you around.” 

Ohtori nodded, quietly following behind him.

  
  


There was more to the camp then met the eye. 

Shishido explained that the occupied clearing was originally used for logging, or something of the sort. The intermodal containers had been modified and reinforced, each of them bunking several people. It was impressive how put together everything was, which Shishido laughed off and assured him that anything could be done with enough people behind it. 

To the east of the camp there was actually a full barn [which had been built after the fact, according to Shishido] which housed some chickens and small goats. He was introduced to a few women who spent their time caring for them, all of whom seemed more than pleased to be visited by Shishido. As they left, Ohtori could hear the women giggling to themselves.

“You’re popular.” Ohtori commented. 

Shishido muttered something incoherent, hand settling on top of his hat. “Whatever. You can’t be picky nowadays.” 

Ohtori laughed at that. Shishido had quite a way with words. 

They passed a rather large garden, the vegetables growing impressively high. He was introduced to a man that looked to be about Ohtori’s age, brown cropped hair brushing his jawline. 

“This is Haginosuke Taki.” Shishido introduced him, and Taki looked up from the flowers he was tending to. They were pretty, reminding him of the flowers his grandmother grew in their front yard back home. 

“Shishido-kun.” Taki acknowledged briefly, then turned to look at Ohtori. “Hello. You must be the one who was brought in with Mukahi, yes?” 

Ohtori nodded, introducing himself. Word traveled fast it seemed. 

“Nice to meet you. Myself and a few others tend to the gardens here.” Taki explained. “We grow the hardy vegetables in the camp, but most work is done a few miles south of here in a bigger field.” 

They went on their way soon after, Taki assuring him that if he needed anything that Ohtori could seek him out. He couldn’t help but notice he didn’t look at Shishido much.

“He doesn’t like me.” Shishido chuckled dryly when Ohtori confronted him. “He actually used to go on horde missions with the others, but I replaced him a few weeks ago after beating his ass in a spar. He looks better among the flowers, anyways.”

Next, they approached a setup of small buildings. Shishido explained that this was where various items like food and weapons were stored. There were regulations, however, and each item needed to be checked out by whoever took it, both for safety and sake of quantity. It actually blew Ohtori’s mind how well thought out everything was. Shishido said that as much as he didn’t like Atobe, he sure as hell knew what he was doing when it came to running things smoothly.

“This is the medical room.” Shishido said, as they approached a large tent. He pulled back the curtain and stepped inside, holding it open for Ohtori, who had to duck embarrassing low to get in. “Oi, Jirou! You awake?” 

Ohtori recognized the name. Was this who Shishido had referred to earlier when he shot back at Atobe? He was surprised to hear that he was _alive_ , but soon realized what had been meant during that exchange. 

The man named Jirou was seated in a chair, leaning on his arm against the table, sleeping soundly. Ohtori noticed instantly that his left arm was severed at the elbow, his long sleeved shirt tied off beneath it.

“Jirou, wake up!” Shishido said again, impatiently. 

“Huh, wha?” Jiro muttered, eyes slowly opening. “Shi...shido? What is it?” 

“Sleeping on the job again?” Shishido scolded, arms folded across his chest. “What if there was an emergency?” 

Jiro shook his head with a yawn. “I’d wake up then, duh.” He blinked, looking to Ohtori. “Who’re you?” 

“This is Ohtori Choutarou. Atobe just accepted him in. Y’know, the one that Mukahi and Oshitari brought back with them.” Shishido said. 

“I didn’t hear anything about that.” Jirou yawned again, sitting up. 

“Figures. You were probably sleeping.” 

Jirou shrugged. “Hi, I’m Jirou!” He piped up, and Ohtori was shocked at the sudden change in his demeanor. “I’m one of the medics here. Don’t get bit though, even I can’t save ya!”

Ohtori nodded, for lack of anything better to do. 

“Where’s Yui?” Shishido asked. “She’s usually in here making sure that you don’t fall asleep on the job.”

“Collecting herbs.” Jirou said. “Or something.” 

“Yui is the other medic.” Shishido explained. “She’s not as air headed as Jirou is, so I’d go to her first.” 

“Hey!” Jirou shot back, though yawned right after. 

“Seriously.” Shishido sighed. “I don’t know what she sees in you, Jirou.” 

Jirou gave a sleepy smile. “Something, at least.” He mused. “Are you done? I want to go back to sleep now.” 

Shishido rolled his eyes. “Yeah alright. C’mon, Choutarou.” 

Ohtori blinked in surprise, not having heard his given name in a long time. He stared at Shishido dumbfounded, who looked away sheepishly upon realizing what he said. 

“Er, is it alright if I call you that?” Shishido asked quietly. “Sorry, I…”

“Yeah, I don’t mind.” Ohtori smiled, and truly, he didn’t. “You’re my superior, after all.” 

Shishido scoffed. “Don’t put it like that. Alright, let’s go. Bye Jirou.” 

It seemed that Jirou was already asleep, forehead planted down on the table. Shishido rolled his eyes again as they left the tent.

“Well, that’s mostly everything.” Shishido said. “The big building that we were at before is Atobe’s chambers, and also the dining hall. Breakfast is served at 7am, lunch at 1pm, and dinner at 7pm. Oh, but food has been pretty scarce lately… so it’s better to show up early.” 

Ohtori made a mental note of that, and honest to goodness couldn’t wait to eat something aside from canned beans. 

“I’ll show you to your bunk now.” Shishido went on, leading him over to the back of the west of the camp. “You’re lucky you don’t have to share with anyone, though it’s pretty small.” 

“Do you share your bunk with anybody, Shishido-san?” Ohtori asked. 

Shishido nodded. “Two people. I don’t mind though, it’s not like I spend a lot of time there.” He mused. 

They approached a building which couldn’t be any bigger than a shed. There was a front door and a single impromptu window carved through the metal of the container, covered by a curtain from the inside. Shishido burst out laughing, and Ohtori stared at him. 

“Oh, god. Your face!” Shishido snickered. “I know, it’s nothing impressive. But hey, you get the place to yourself. I’d trade you.” 

Ohtori’s cheeks lit up. “Oh, no! It’s perfect, really. I was just surprised by the … window.” 

“Oh, don’t mind that. We’re working on something to fill the hole for the colder months. But I’m sure it’ll be fine for the summer.” Shishido mused, clasping Ohtori’s shoulder. “Wanna check it out?”

He nodded. It was a strange set up. There was a concrete slab underneath it, and it was a bit of a step up to reach the door. Ohtori grabbed the handle on the side and hoisted himself up, then reached his hand down to assist Shishido, who nodded his thanks. 

“Safety measure.” Shishido said. “In case any of those damn zombies get into the camp. As far as I’m aware, they can’t jump.” 

Ohtori chuckled at the mental image. _Thank goodness they couldn’t._

The layout was simple. There was a twin sized mattress elevated on top of a wire frame. A small box served as a bedside table. Some shelves had been installed above the bed, and opposite to the mattress was a table and chair, a small cooler placed on top of it. 

“Not bad, eh?” Shishido spoke up, sitting down on Ohtori’s bed. It creaked loudly as he sat down. “Er, aside from this.”

“I slept outside sitting up in a chair last night. This will be perfect.” Ohtori chuckled. 

Shishido smiled at him thoughtfully, tilting his head somewhat. Ohtori threw his bag down on the table and let out a deep sigh. “Thanks for everything, Shishido-san. I’ll try not to be too much of a pain in your neck.” 

“As if.” Shishido waved his hand, brushing away Ohtori’s words. “I know I sniped at Atobe but I swear, you’re fine. Besides, if you get on my nerves, you’ll _know_.” 

Ohtori laughed, and moments later, so did Shishido. 

Standing up again, Shishido stretched before turning to the door. “I’m going to go report back to Atobe and figure out what the hell he wants me to do, so get settled in, okay?” Shishido said, hopping down from the door. “And be careful of that drop. Don’t wander out half asleep in the middle of the night and fall on your face. Breaking your shoulder or something on your first day ain’t gonna impress anybody.” 

“Okay.” Ohtori smiled. “I’ll see you at dinner then, Shishido-san.” 

Shishido saluted him with a stupid smile, then stalked off towards Atobe’s quarters. 

Ohtori left the door open to allow some light in. He walked back over to his bag, taking out some of the items that he’d packed earlier. He sorted through his clothes and set out the photos he wanted to display on the wall, all the while he had a smile on his face. 

Life was about to get interesting.


End file.
